Jaunty Saucy Mistresses And Sordid Jaundiced Warriors
by Quillon42
Summary: I know I said I would stop and such with stories but I could not resist a small encore. I am thinking of doing about six or seven more this year, including this one, in which Kuros and the captive ladies from the original Wizards and Warriors (NES 1987) face off with various YouTube feminists. Part One of Three is up as of now.
1. Chapter 1

JAUNTY SAUCY MISTRESSES AND SORDID JAUNDICED WARRIORS

By Quillon42

In the midst of a domain once deluged with danger and damsels, one under the illustrious appellation of Elrond, a half dozen doughty dames convocated in a copse constipated with branches and bramblings, towering trees and treacherous trails. Despite the apparent hazards of which each handmaiden had heard years ago in her youth, she fretted not and instead sauntered freely as of now, she entirely aware that whatever threat there once was had since been thrashed apart by a knight most noble. For certain, the indomitable armored adventurer called Kuros had conquered every wood of woefulness, every cavern of cravenness, and ultimately that Spire of Iron in which was imprisoned his Princess…and along the way, every one of these hale ladies had been harrowed by the same, cut down from every respective ceiling from which each darling had once dangled.

Now, some decades and a couple of quests later, after which said Sir had returned well in good stead… _eventually_ (exactly how he reverted from being funneled far into the future, as had been conveyed at the "Visions of Power" conclusion, is a telling for another time and such)…the canny Kuros was excited likewise to loaf with this lot of lasses whom he'd saved from an unsavory fate. Indeed, the exalted lord was anxious now to gaze into the gemlike eyes of each girl…

…while she in turn, even on an occasion such as this, had expected naught more than to look upon that same varnished visor which had visited her in the dank depths from which she was rescued.

The peculiar reality of it, in this far-flung fantasy, was that Kuros was a curious sort of creature, when it came to his features…the champion was in fact furiously self-conscious concerning his face, such that nearly no one—not even his sister, nay, not even his very Princess—had ever espied the image of the man's countenance. Even the King's most comely offspring, upon a recent tryst with this titan among thanes, she could not catch a glance nor a glimpse beyond the hoariest of helmets that was always shucked upon his shoulders, even when the man was otherwise in the altogether.

Regardless, each of these elfish angels stood ecstatic now in this spring-serene scene, she unable to wait for that Wizard-winnowing Warrior to alight once again.

…

…

[DEDDLE-LEDDLE-LIDDLE-LEDDLE-LA!]

Lo, here it was in this moment, the blemishless necks of said babes had shunted in the direction of that joyful jingle that always sounded when one entered through a door in this wood. Surely, Kuros had now emerged from a towering tree, just as Nancy Wheeler had managed in that magnificent narrative involving scientists and/or civilians stumbling upon a supernatural passage through which monsters also manifested…what was it called again…

…ah yes: Stephen King's "The Mist."

…

…No, wait…

…

…ah yes: Konami Tokyo's "Silent Hill."

…

…No, wait…

…

…ah, yes: Clive Barker's "Jericho."

…

…No, wait…

…

…ah, yes: Pony Canyon's "Dr. Chaos."

…

…No, wait…

...ah, yes: the effing-Microsoft-Paint-produced "Timeslaughter" from the 1990s.

…

…No, wait…

…

…

…

…OH, yeah…of course: Netflix's "original" series, "Stranger Things."

Whence Kuros joined up with all of his jaunty jonquils herein, all his main maidens indeed, and prepared in that once-evilly enchanted forest for a most epic picnic.

The gallivanting gallant could not even initiate the preparations regarding his Grill of Grandiosity, however, when of a sudden

[SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH]

the vilest of vanilla vines issued forth from everywhere, spindly satiny lines surrounding ladies and gentleman most gruffly, grabbing each abruptly and placing all of these most swanky of seven well up towards the treetops, every one of them to hang by the hands—just as the six misses had so untowardly endured in their crises of captivity…and as the seventh, stalwart soldier here had so dreamily freed them from such.

But now even Kuros himself was bound up in these basest of boughs, the hearty hero apprehensive that he was approaching his end after only so many vaunted virtual ventures. Verily, a quartet of quests was the weakest of medieval sauces indeed, compared to, say, a trillion trudges for the Triforce over in Hyrule, or a pipeline (literally and otherwise) of plays for Peach Toadstool in the realm of Mushroom, or only a fucking googolplex of Calls that were always ever so Dutiful in a faux rendition of the reader's reality.

It was the actuality of it now that the courageous knight was seceding to a dawn of decease. Kuros could hear that accursed theme even now, the song that would sound whenever he had been close to another conniption, another torturous tantrum upon the ground before he gave up the ghost for the infinitest of times…

[DA-DAAA, DAAAAA, DA]

[DA-DAAA, DAAAAA, DA]

[DA-DAAA, DAAAAA, DA]

and yet there was something slightly at variance with that doozy of a dirge this time…

[DA-DAAA, DAAAAA, DA (Da-Da Daa-Daa, Da-Da Da, Da-Dun Dun Dun, Daa-Daa…)]

something more upbeat in the background of the tune most treacherous, the melody more…optimistic, even uplifting.

You see, in the year of our Lord in which the maidens were originally taken, that of one thousand nine hundred eighty seven to be precise, it is correct that Kuros had completed his first of four quests, in which said biddies were brashly brought out of their insidious imprisonment. It was in that selfsame year, in fact, that a woman in the reader's reality had released a sizzling single of happenin' jazz, the verse melody (NOT the chorus—this author here is referring to the melody of the verses) of which this author had always thought had been aped to an extent by the death dirge of Kuros's original outing.

And as it turned out, each of the elegant girls whom the knight had nicked from the clutches of corruption…she treasured a particular ladylike talent—and one in particular was so passionate for her singing that she even stretched out into other dimensions for ditties, when she tired of those from her own entrancing universe.

Now was a vivacious verse, now upon the ears of the unconquerable Kuros was a chorus most rousing, that of a veritable Breakout hit, emitted by one Esmeralda, to spur the seasoned soldier to action:

 _"When siiiiituations never change, [Dow-Dow, Dow, Dow-Dow-Dow]_

 _"Tomorrrrrrow looks-un-suuure [Dowww, Dowww, Dowww, Dow-Dow-Dow]_

 _"Don't leeeeeave your destiny to chance [Dow-Dow, Dow, Dow-Dow-Dow]_

 _"What aaaaarrre…you waiting for [Dow-Dow, Dow, Dow-Dow-Dow]_

 _"The TIIIIIMMME has come to make or break [Dowww, Dowww, Dowww, Dow-Dow-Dow]_

 _"Breakouuut. [Dun-Dun, Dun-Dun, Dun-Dun]_

 _"DON'T STOPPPPPP, TO ASSSSSSKKK…_

 _"Now you found your break to make it lassssssttt…_

 _"You've got to FIND A WAY…say what you want to say…_

 _"Breakouuuuuttt…"_

[Da-Da, Da Da Daa-Daa, Da-Da Da Da Da Da DAAAAAAAAA]

Then as the key changed to an even higher and more positive register (in this abridged rendering of the anthem), this lustiest of Lancelots found himself sufficiently liberated within, so that he could free himself and the others without. Even more so did this author himself feel so freed, as he always wanted to get this Wizards And Warriors/Swing Out Sister composition comparison off his chest (and a random ass Youtube comment on either or both tunes would just never have cut it, damn it).

It was then, thus, through the serendipitous confluence of melodies between a synth strain from Earth and a spooky score from Elrond, that strength had been found by the formidable fighter of a knight named Kuros. (And said spookiness in song was always evident in every auditory offering from Rare in those days—whether it suited the subject material perfectly (as it did comfortably with the stately yet creepy eldritch atmosphere of Wizards and Warriors) or really not at all (as it did ever so strangely, in this author's opinion, with other titles like R.C. Pro Am or Wrestlemania)).

At any measure, though, the robust roustabout had by now freed himself, as well as all his ladies-in-wooing, from the blanched bindings which held them all fast to this once-wicked forest. Just as this judicious jouster had believed himself to be at least metaphorically out of the woods, in terms of perniciously troublesome perils and timeless pop tracks, such ordeals were only starting up…

…and the lone man and the welter of women found themselves faced with an alabaster army ahead of them, indeed a seeming battalion of boys with bodies entirely bleached, they all as frighteningly fair in the flesh as their armor was ashen.

These seven most savvy now which faced off against this wan platoon, they never imagined they would face something so fierce, encounter anything so appalling as this. It was a collective entity which could arrive only through the machinations of one magician most malevolent…

So _Malkil_ himself had seen, through his Skull of Scrying now (the foe always had such a fucking fetish for the headbones, as they were omnipresent throughout that first fling Kuros had to Ironspire)…all was on schedule at the moment. The septet of revelers was met by that horrid horde of pallid paladins, indeed that retchworthy regiment of stereotypically acne-attacked, socially-stunted scalawags from the reader's reality who clamped upon keyboards to defend the most attention-seeking of shrews, the most foolish of film-schooled floozies, the grodiest goddesses engorged with GOTIS.

And of course, who better to lead this leery legion than five of the most meretricious of misery-mongers featured effing everywhere on the Tubes of You of yore.

It was the murderous Mal's design that these duennas of death would pilfer that picnic so epic, punish those puckish partygoers with unrelenting assistance from the Pallidins which waited on them and executed these amazons' every waking wish. If they failed, well meh, certainly no one would miss the ivory insipids who constantly stumped for the strumpets…and as for the mockeries of medusas that were the armchair feminists of the Tubes of You, they would either be eliminated entirely from every reality…or they would be captured, in which case, unlike the desirable detainees delivered by Kuros, no one would ever bother to come rescue them anyway.

Kuros surveyed the sea of sallowness, the wooded path permeated with Pallidins before him, and he knew the exact implement to apply. For certain, his comely compatriots would not be able to confront the five freakish fatales before them and live to tell of it, what with all these anemic underlings lurking afoot. Thus

[KLOOK KLOCK-KLOOK KLOCK-KLOOK KLOCK-KLOOK KLOCK-KLOOK KLOCK-KLOOK]

the nimble knight abruptly employed one of his most devious devices—that of the "Cuck…Ew" Clock, designed to stop in their tracks those contumacious creeps who made all real men suddenly feel diffuse with disgust in their pitiful, pixie-begging presence.

Yea, so long as this cacophonously shrill timepiece was cawing on—and this mystical machine could last far longer than the three seconds or so that did its more conventional cousin, back in Kuros's original ordeal—no pale pustule could come anywhere near our heroes as they endeavored to dispose of the worst waste that had ever entered upon Elrond's grounds.

First to feel the fury of Kuros and his quite kinetic cadre was a certain self-styled sexpert upon the tableau of Tubes, a girl whose wreckage of rhetoric could make a guy turn as Green as her surname…even if she was possibly the only feminist ever whom one could faintly fathom to be physically appealing.

As it would turn out, this confrontation with _Laciviousa_ , as she would be known in this notorious faerie frontier, would become the easiest of all affrays this afternoon, as the alleged lady was already entwined in the same ghostly gossamers that had gussied up the handmaids and their hero only minutes previous. Completely unsurprisingly, Laciviousa was given to variegated fetishes, after so many years of copulatory contemplation, and here said sexplorations would lead to a summary defeat by default in a sense, as the winsome wom…err, woelady had already wrapped herself in a trap of her own triggering.

Satisfied that there had not heretofore but much of a sweat broken in these battles, and already one of the churl-girls gone out of commission, Kuros's crew stared at the bound bitch with naught but vindictiveness and contempt. When Penelope, whose talent was weaving (like, yes, her Greek mythological counterpart)—when she had also noted that her hero was at the moment holding his legendary Brightsword with a bit more brittle, upon his laying eyes on Laciviousa and her baleful buxomness, the refugee from the far-end forest of Elrond decided to take things a step further.

Whisking her lithe palm along the shoulders of Sir Knight, Penelope plucked from his person a mysterious mantle which was imperceptible to the ordinary eye. "I've got your unspeakable darkness right here," said the maiden of grace to the maven of gross, referencing Miss Green's Trumpocalypse trash-garbage video as the former covered the latter with that same Cloak which had never enjoyed an instant of usefulness…until now.

With this gesture, Penelope, who was a captive of a sizeable silk-spinning eight-legged entity, then took inspiration from her captor and pulled on another rope nearby, the physics of it all launching Laciviousa well up into the air and upon the same boughs in which the Warrior and his dignified dames were embedded ten minutes back. Now in light of the fact that this physiologically-finest of feminists (really a small feat, as all the others were un-unseeable abominations) was so trussed and topped off with that Cloak which concealed its wearer from view, any threat that Laciviousa might have posed had now passed. Indeed, as this author and other sundry Coitalmaniacs would readily attest, flashing someone with a cloak was supremely sexy…yet, as this episode had demonstrated, obscuring an enchantress with the same kind of clothing could be all the more gratifying. Most titillating, of course, was just the bare fact that, here, the Cloak of Darkness had finally proved practical on a given occasion.

Upon the passing of the pretersexual threat that was that "grrrl" most Green, another had almost instantly taken her place—and to be sure, there was a second babe from the most bombastic bevy of Elrond to meet her challenge. Really, to be fair, it was Galadriel now who took the initiative, she unfurling her ensorcelled Scroll to practice her own folklore-firmament-foisted talent of oration. This most grandiloquent Gal now readied herself to address these most unwashed of "womyn" before her, she excited to utilize that same sort of parchment on which was printed The Map™ (containing an encapsulation of the most enterprising areas of this charmed country, of course) to speak at her emasculating enemies as such:

"Now, Thence: Whereas, it hath been imbued within me to instruct thy craven uncouth menfants with whom I find myself met herein, in addition to, to wit, this motley menagerie of feminions whom said boybies are pledging tribute:

"I find myself behooved to direct said misguided subjects of this declamation to the margins of a demarcation more appropriate to the remedial stratum of taste, class, and station otherwise which is suitable to their rudimentary mentalities and enfeebled constitutions…

"As it shall be, then, these detestable peoplechildren before my own person shall be relegated to naught other than the Third-Wood© of Elrond, a cluster of wilderness which even the basest, most banal forms of evil lifeforms would not encroach upon (as they had so effected upon the First-Wood© and Second-Wood©, as respectively the former captives Lucinda and Penelope can aver…"

Then the unspeakably acrimonious entity known as Chantraggia had most unfortunately chimed in, she of the stringy and artificially fiery scalp locks, she who had boasted a surname too understandably similar to the most loathsome creature to creep afoot in The Phantom Menace. This bothersome banshee, known also as "Big Red" in some insufferable circles, arrived now to put in her two cen…er, two small third-world-country GDPs:

"How could you live with yourself, being part of this…harem with all these other airheads? You just mentioned Lucinda and Penelope being captives…what, did Conan here have to save them from where they were holed up? That is such an oppressive indicator of Rescue Culture! You put the "she" in sheep with the way you back the Knightriarchy!..."

Galadriel then looked away from her Scroll and fixed deadset death-ray eyes upon her flush-follicled foe. A beat later:

"…

"I'm _ORATING,_ Rockface."

Predictably undeterred, Chantraggia raged anew, she attempting to shut down the sultry speakeress, to no avail. Unbeknownst to the feminfamous foe as well, the electrifying elocutionist also had an ace…or rather, an ovum, as it were…up her satiny sleeve.

So after another couple verses from Chanty's chant of abject spite, Gal gathered up an arm…

…then let fly the Exploding Egg, the powerful projectile careening forth and caroming into the frothing maw of the maroon moron opposite her. In actuality, there was no detonation which derived from this turn of events…and yet it surely would be the case that Big Red would be bloated within for a very long spell to come indeed thereafter.

"AAAAANY of the ways!" continued the gladdened Galadriel, as Chants's insides churned so unpleasantly. "I hath not yet concluded my allocution! Not concluded, shutteth the fucketh up…"

So it went as this next damsel, in the coming minutes, completed her address to the enemy which potently put them in their place for the time being.

What would definitively drive the point home would be the performance which Kuros and these magnificent maidens would perpetrate upon these ill-met invaders. You see, it all made so much sense when one translated the name "Kuros of Elrond" from the Anglo-Saxon, and found that said transcribing delivered the identical appellation of a most gifted minstrel and thespian of the reader's reality, one who had been, in ages past, a Goonie, a Lost Boy, one whom others could Stand By, as well as a number of memorable other douchy designations a quarter century into our history. Indeed, that same face could be found underneath the weathered helmet of this haughty hero, which he intended to reveal at last to these ladies upon playing, anon in this confrontation, that same first Angelic number featured on that Show of Today in September of 2016.

It would remain to be seen, though, whether upon the witnessing of Kuros's countenance, his handmaidens would still wish to Go For It.

TO BE CONTINUED

("Breakout" is property of Swing Out Sister as of the year 1987 or so, by the way).


	2. Chapter 2

JAUNTY SAUCY MISTRESSES AND SORDID JAUNDICED WARRIORS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER THE SECOND

In the wake of the caustic chastening of that pair of pusillanimous piranhafaces that were Lasciviousa and Chantraggia, another unpleasant entity emerged with the object to subject another fair maiden to an agenda which was most antisocial and anything but just.

"You there," began this gorgon most garrulous, as she launched the lens of a churlishly-cradled camera into the face of a fawn-eyed femme. "What's your name?"

The eloquent answer issued from the mouth of a maid whose ability lay not in oration, as with Galadriel previously, but rather in orchestration. This mellifluous miss sounded off much better on a musical rather than a verbal basis…although for certain she could dignify the gadfly now gawking at her with at least a name.

"I'm Lucinda," the silken siren said in reply, the syllables of her illuminating appellation descending down in dulcet tones dually, so that it was issued as "Luc…Inda" (with a soft "C" for the first of the fragments, of course).

And also of course here, the roiling rakshasi who was conversing most contrarily with this luminous lady had to interpret the other's elucidation in the most offensive manner imaginable.

"Loose Inda what?" prompted the questioner, also known as Zarnanusia.

"Luc…Inda," reiterated the regent of ravish, most gently in her enunciation, and with lithe fingers raised to emphasize the syllabication…which again for whatever of reasons only flustered her foe all the further.

"Loose Inda what?" repeated the harrying harpy, whose craw began to crescendo most cattily. The embattled babe opposite her thought to beat feet for an instant as her enemy pressed pursuit, even though the latter's sternum was burdened with udders extending down beneath knee level. "Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what?" carped the crone in continuation, as Lucinda retreated a bit more, she bearing the abuse with the greatest of patience…though her oral assailant's affronts were beginning to grate on her grace.

"Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what? Loose Inda what?"

Upon further lack of elaboration, the vile vomitous volcano present erupted in its full fatuous feminist fury.

To the sperm-shaded sentries all around her, (each of them stymied still by the Cuck…Ew Clock from the last chapter: "She just…she just sexually harassed me!"

Then to the loverly lady Lucinda herself: "HOW DARE YOU? HOW _DARE_ YOU?"

Of course, as the zed that was Zarnanusia harbored an accent that was shrilly British in nature, it actually came out more as "HOW _DEAH YEAU?!_ " But anyone who was already acquainted with the horrors endured by a henpecked American known unofficially as Hugh Mungus, he or she could imagine how the shrieking sounded here.

Most thankfully for all involved, it was at this instant that Lucinda could manage no more of this needling naga of negativity. "HOW _DEAH…_ "

 _"BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNKKKKK!"_

And thus the full fury of the official and obscure Horn, now trumpeted damningly by the tender damsel, had blasted into the schnoz of Zarnanusia such that the icky echidna had oozed down to the forest floor, she flatly flummoxed by the intonation of that terrible tocsin. Smiling sweetly, Lucinda lifted the instrument loftily for the other ladies to see, and they all applauded accordingly. Who could deny that hoary yet honorable Horn, which by some was dubbed the Horn of Harmony, and others the Horn of Horniness…

…

…because of the mere fact that it was the quintessential specimen of a brass blarer.

…

…

(…What? Where's _your_ mind at?!)

…

Upon yet another nook of the noxious coppice clearing, a certain chimera of a champion of all these vindictive vipers had readied what she had dubiously dubbed her "Snarkles"—shackles fit to fetter these most delicate of dames who were deadest against her inauspicious invasion of their hallowed homeland. With the implementation of these infernal items, this manticore, verily, this manic whore would evilly enslave all the ladies all by herself, and yet parade these proper gals about as if they were victimized all along by the patriarchal establishment of Elrond.

Such shines most miserably monkey were in fact the braindaughters of an alleged woman who was the mistressmind of this entire attack—who abandoned her Frequencies most ineffably Feminist and initiated the campaign "I Need A Snark Legion," as a game play on both her own abominable names, both Satanic- and sur- alike, so that she could in fact assemble the countless crusaders clad in colors of cum who infested this enchanted wood at present.

Yes, the indubitably iniquitous one known in this kingdom as Sarkdonica, she now took the fore in the forest, she rearing back with her Gonzo faucet nasalith astride her infamously fugly features, she fixing to fit each of Kuros's comely comrades with the most miserable of manacles…

[DEEDLEEDEEDLEEDEEDLEE]

when of a sudden a bubblegum-seeming blast issued from a rod that was surely to be reckoned with…at least as of now. The ensuing pink projectile enveloped the evil overlady, causing the caustic cow to stay suspended in her animation before she could wreak ruin with her rotten restraints.

A calming carnation glow radiated from the end of the item that issued forth the fearsome fuchsia force. Yea, as with the once-ignominious Cloak of Darkness, here too would one Wand ever considered to be a waste would be redeemed by a daring damsel. Now it was she who was considered to have the loveliest face, and yet the ugliest name, who would defend her fellow females.

"It's a good thing that my own talent lies more in the culinary than in the mercenary, as if the case with my brother Kuros," began Grizelda as she slung the Wand of Wonder behind her head, she utilizing its decorative star to scratch her back a second. "Otherwise I'd have eradicated, rather than refrigerated you."

"Ulp…

"Yhhyh…

"YeeeeeAAAAAAHHHHH _GO POWDERTITS!"_

Grizelda then glanced across the glade as Sarkdonica could definitively not do in her congealed condition. The maiden had colored a shade of salmon herself, then glared at a now-inebriated Esmeralda who catcalled her an instant ago. Really she wished that everyone would cease their teasing her with that; Kuros's sibling was a mite bitter that she ever shared her favorite color with the other ladies. As it turned out, Grizelda grew to like pink, as she was indeed imprisoned in caverns which some renditions of her brother's first adventure had recounted as being puce in hue. What was more, upon researching the reader's reality to find an ideal stone with the same kind of shade, she'd hit upon a mineral named Poudretteite, which was both pink in pigment and weighty in its worth.

Of course, she could entirely leave it to her peers to prod at her with a bastardization of the handle regarding that precious metal she'd cherished so affectionately.

She shrugged it off at the moment at any rate, because the maid was too taken up with taking this yammering yo-yo of the Tubes of You to task. "I will not permit you to plague our kind any longer with your imbeciles or with your invectives," gritted the beauteous Grizelda, she waving the Wand lecturingly rather than threateningly—as certainly the most static Sarkdonica was now no issue to anyone at all.

"See, back around the time when our particular delightful yet derivative atmosphere of Elrond was invented, there was a certain craze that arose in your reality. It did not involve boots, or potions, as my brother Ku here so fondly fetishizes…but rather gloves.

Addressing further the chilled challenger of civility, Grizelda: "Your present state brings to mind those velvety gauntlets that we girls all wanted so badly when we were young…the closest thing we could come to them were the Mitts of Mottle, but they were only statically multicolored, and didn't change hues the way the ones in your world did."

The graceful Griz now meandered up to the mug of the monstress before her. "In your world, they were so dubbed…'Freezy Freakies.'

"That is exactly the term that has been aroused in my id right now, beholding your frigiferous visage at the moment. Though you can take comfort in the fact that you're still much more a Freak than Freeze, even now.

"And by the way," added the purveyor of pink, as she went to the side of her brother, who was just raring to throw down with so many faux warriors who were also frozen at the moment, though only in time and not in temperature, "…you might be wondering how I might have struck out at you without your detecting me. Let's just say that, as one might do so cheaply in so many digitized boss battles, such as those which even my bro has perpetrated, in the throes of levitation on the leftmost section of so many lairs of evil…

"…I took advantage of a safe space."

Even in her benumbed state, in which no one could perceive any reaction from her person, Sarkdonica was triggered thoroughly at this insouciant assault without warning.

Nevertheless, the countess of correctness in all piddlings most political was prepared for such a sitch as this, and it was now that the feminist failsafe was to be activated most proactively.

What was believed to be a boulder in this erstwhile serene clearing had now seemingly grown arms as well as a gigantic pig's pate of a head. In fact, it had been the fifth and final of the femmes who was invading Elrond, who had been sedated till now, given her volition towards volatility on so many occasions. Yes, just as at the climax to the initial kewl Konamian adventure involving whipping varlets vanquishing whimsical vampires…here too the main brain behind the entire aggression had been beaten—but now a mindless mammoth had sprung forth to ensure that the virtuous would not survive.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHRRRRR…"

Springing to life nearby out of an urge for impromptu self-preservation, the courtesan known as Candida dove out of the way of the ham-diameter hands that swung out violently and indiscriminately in her direction. Fortunately for this forest-adoring yet once-castle-cloistered frau, her own talents thrived in the art of dance…and for certain, she would need to beat feet in order to hope to escape the threat of this murderous mesa of mass that was shivering ever so slobberingly her way.

"KEEP…YOUR…DAMSELS…OUT…OUR…COSMOS…"

Terrifyingly now did these words emanate from the gargantuan gullet of this omnicarnivorous creature known to this world as Triggnometria. Now she shook her Galactan gams, now she swung her Everesty arms, now she cried another catastrophically Cthulhan call as Candida pivoted and pirouetted out of the way as much as she could.

"KEEP YOUR DAMSELLLLL…RRRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHRRRRRAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!"

It was the Daphne-transformed-Banshee at the end of the second arcade ordeal of Dirk the Daring. It was the gigantic mutant torso threatening the randy Raider of Tombs at the close of her first recorded crucible. Confrontations such as these were what was brought to mind as a diminutive figure fought with all she had to evade an enormous entity bearing down on her. The looming leviathan raised her isthmuses of arms up once more, then brought them crashing down to destroy an ensorcelled sequoia. Candida ducked just in time as the Pangaea-pulverizing pistons of this ghastly gravy-blooded behemoth blew by just above her saffron-shining scalp.

There was one weapon of sorts which the luscious lady could use against the imposing tectonic-grating goliath that was Triggnometria…and just now, for once, Candida cherished, rather than cursed, those days she spent in the murky keep of Malkil.

 _"CHANGELINGO REVERSO!"_ screamed the satiny miss now, as she found a toehold on a tuffet a few feet from the brutish beast behind her. It was just then, as she uttered the words, that the gluttonous Ghidorah ganging up on her had diminished a dash, she/it shrinking in stature one meter, then another,…then another…then another…then another…then another…then another…then another… then another…and then another…the frightening Trigg taken down so many miles of notches, while her lava-gargling larynx took on a tone that was more that of the middle five letters of her repugnant name.

"KEEP YOUR DAMSELS OUT OUR COSMOS…

"KEEP YOUR DAMSELS Out Our Cosmos…

"Keep Your Damsels (out our cosmos…"

And then, when Candida was satisfied that this nastiest of feminist nephilim had been reduced down to an inch—the horrid thing taking the size-based trajectory opposite that of the Changeling Skeleton which Kuros had faced to harrow Candi herself—the maiden lifted her gown to reveal that which she wished to gouge the knight with across his back in the throes of prospective copulation…those risqué kissing cousins of the Boots of Force…

"Get thine folds of fulminating fat primed…for the impacts of the _Pumps of Fuck_."

Now it was the maddened mistress's turn to tromp about, as she rambled out a riverdance with said hellacious heels, routing the runt underfoot that was once Triggnometria. While the abovementioned Boots could cause chests to cave, these Pumps could crush castles into crumbs.

After Candida had found herself all tapped and stepped out, she looked at her slipper's soles and noticed only so much gore and gravy adorning their surfaces. She looked to the other ladies and abruptly curtsied, to a cloudburst of clapping approval.

With this, the women in Kuros's company now looked to the knight himself to deliver on his own brand of destruction and discomfiture, all upon the cream-curdled semblances of men surrounding them all. For certain, the canticle to chronicle this conquest would be one to recall throughout all realities…and the wondrous warrior's vauntings of violence would not fail to impress his enticing entourage.

Surely, Kuros's fights would not disappoint the dames…but his features may yet disillusion them. For each of the elflike envoys had expected Fabio beneath the brusque brim that was the hero's helmet, according to the extolled exploits of Ironsword…but they would all soon discover instead the face of another famous yet less glamorous F.

TO BE CONCLUDED


	3. Chapter 3

JAUNTY SAUCY MISTRESSES AND SORDID JAUNDICED WARRIORS

By Quillon42

CHAPTER THE THIRD

In the front of the forest now, the battalion of blenched brigands, all of them under the thrall of that chronograph that made them ever more cuckolded than they already had been, the totality of them now beheld the brave Warrior Kuros as he took to the fore, fully helmeted and armored as nearly always, as the maidens among him initiated the overture of his most triumphant theme.

[Doom Doom Doom Doom]

[DOOM Doom Doom Doom]

[DOOM DOOM DOOM DOO-DOO DOOM DOOM DOOM DOOM]

Masterfully now Kuros traipsed from left to right before all the mesmerized mofos, the soldier sweeping his arms up and down in that same interpretive dance demonstrated by that gallant Goonie, by that dauntless Lost Boy who led his own echelon of Angels through this same tune on a program enumerated by the sophisticated title of Today. Accompanying this act most adroit was the pianistic prowess of one Penelope, who supplied all of the notes above, indeed, from Dooms to DOOMs.

Penelope now also produced the synthetic inflections that introduced the brunt of this brazen rendition, exposed to the open air this instant:

 _("GIT IT GIT IT…(Unintelligible) BLA BLA BLA (Unintelligible)…_

 _"DEATH…")_

And with this ultimate utterance, an imposing square tapestry, bearing a mosaicked image of the Giant Skull which once held Lucinda in its sway, had descended and remained suspended in front of Kuros for one tense moment. (This colorful touch was made possible through Penelope's threads and "Loose Inda"'s memories of her own traumatic internment under that first evil entity). But then

 _("GO…FOR…IT!")_

sang the enticing Esmeralda (she thankfully sobered up just in time) as said threads were tossed aside as the knight's baseness-blighting Brightsword thrust the chaotic carpeting upon a limb swaying in time with the mellifluous melody.

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

So the alleged enunciation of guitar riffs progressed now, courtesy of guitars supposedly played by Lucinda (on lead), Grizelda (on rhythm), and Candida (on bass). Galadriel apparently set a pushy, yet somehow still plodding pace on the drums, while Penelope seemed to keep up on keyboards and Esmeralda ostensibly eased on with her vigorous backing vocals. Meanwhile, the crushing crusader that was Kuros grinded it out with his own inimitable, yet inimical, gullet which gave off the gutturals of a Gila Monster:

 _"They try to put you down…_

 _"They put you on the ground…"_

And all the while the burly battler broke out with the thrice-blessed blade between his fists (the gloriousness of which came nowhere near the ten-times-sanctified lance between his legs), he on some beats singing heartily into the pommel, then alternating this with decapitations of the stunned dimwits who once defended the foulest of feminists.

 _"Just when you think it's all ovER…_

 _"No hope in life, so whatcha gonna dooooo…_

Then after laying low a few more score of the sickly scalawags, the knight turned to face his ensemble, he finally fixed to haul off that helmet which hid his face for ages.

 _"So what…_

 _"What have we got, to loohoohoose…"_

…

…

…

The only sound for a hot instant was that of said helm huffing against the needled glade ground.

The fright of the sight before the ladies in waiting was such that they'd almost forgot to continue synching so sonorously with their glistening lips, almost neglected to carry on with their feigning of playing and warbling along. That it was not the chiseled cliffside countenance that they all expected, but rather the baby-fat fumble of features that greeted them all, had petrified each more than any eldritch archevil ever could.

…

…

It was only the urgency to exterminate these unspeakable enemies all around that prodded these precious ones into continuing with their ever so special chant.

…

("Umm…

" _We've got nothing to lose, so baby, baby let's GO FOR IT, GO…FOR…IT!"_

 _"We've got nothing to lose, so baby, baby let's GO FOR IT, GO…FOR…IT!")_

And now it was the thunderous trooper known as Kuros who led the ladies with the rousing cuss of the chorus

 _"So we'll reach for the sky, ain't no goal that's too HI-IGHHH!"_

 _("GO…FOR…IT!")_

And now it was the same cruel-on-corruption Kuros that balanced on a bubble straight from the infernal abyss of the Red Caves, it billowing up through a small recess in the forest and carrying the champion up towards the treetops.

 _"No we're not gonna stop, till we reach the TAH-AHPPPP!"_

 _("GO…FOR…IT!")_

And then it was the same key to the kingdom of righteous rectitude that was Kuros, who hauled off that same soapy conveyance, his stomach saturated with a full draught of the Potion of Levitation as he punctuated his cry of "TAH-AHPPPP" with a hang from the height of the tallest tree in this end of the wondrous Wood Elrond.

An instant following, the courageous Kuros employed the Feather of Feather Fall as he dabbed all the way down the hundred meters or so to the earth's surface…then he whipped out the Shield of Protection, and just before the second verse he performed with that enchanted item that same crossing guard dance that his counterpart on the program of Today did before his own second verse, appropriate for the fact that that bold buckler's own cross had guarded the knight against perdition on many an onerous ordeal.

The next several spits of lustrous lines were all accompanied this time with volleys of the indomitable Ax of Agor, rather than brutal Brightsword blows. Now Kuros crooned grossly into the haft of the hatchet while he intermittently terminated the tetchy twerps all around him. Even though the enemy had fallen without too fearsome of a fight, it all felt hollower than the knight had hoped, particularly in light of the quite perturbed expressions upon the faces of the fraus in his fold. Despite their vivacity and vibrancy, he could tell that they were all scandalized and perhaps even scarred irreparably upon the witnessing of his visage.

…What have you got to lose, Kuros? Only the love of six out of seven ladies in your coveted court of Elrond.

…

…Indeed. The upshot was that, despite the half-dozen of damsels herein whose hopes were dashed by looking upon the mealy mien of their man…

…

…There was yet a seventh, one who had been of the few to have viewed Kuros's face in the past, something which even his sibling Grizelda had never before beheld…

…And, at the conclusion of the second chorus, the knight took weapon in hand and hazarded a toss anew, only this time it was the devious Dagger of Throwing, toward a tree tucked yards away…

…And stepping out from said arboreal barrier was the Princess, his Princess, who abruptly palmed the knife midflight as deftly as did Jack Burton in a lurid climax underneath Little China, approximately three decades past.

But instead of reflexively hurling the dirk to bury itself in the brain of Lo Pan, said Princess arced her dainty mouth towards the Throwing's handle, and began to employ her own art, which certainly superseded that of weaving, or orating, or orchestrating, or anything else that the other women wonderfully embraced…

The illustrious art of rapping.

"Git it, Git it…(bla bla bla) we hit the clubs, (bla bla) you…show me love…"

"Git it, Git it…(bla bla bla) we hit the clubs, (bla bla) you…show me love…"

And then the fearless fighter jumped over to his primary honey and homey as the latter belted out a raucous rant to which Kuros could cannily dance, the Princess all the while tossing her own preferred arm of the Mace of the Mistress, back and forth against the heads of the feminists themselves, now caving in the cranium of Laciviousa, then Chantraggia, and on and on.

 _"All he wants to do, is work…_

 _"All he wants to do, is work…_

 _"So I watch F'EL-ROND twerk…"_

With this last line, Kuros turned his back to all present and braced his legs as he always did, at least in his first adventure, real pansylike before any time he engaged a tall jump. This bracing brought out his backside, which he presented first to the forest, then against the front of his betrothed, making just like Miley did infamously in the Thicke of an irritating awards ceremony some time ago (in the reader's reality).

By now almost all the evils had been eradicated from the area, as anticipated by the chant's heroic and hiphoppy climax:

 _"Git it, Git it…_

 _"Come on now, Git it, Git it, SING IT WITH ME!_

 _"Git it, GIT IT?!_

 _"Yo 'F-Elrond, Go, For, It."_

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

[BWA BWA BWA BWAAA-BWAAAAAA]

 _"Yo 'F-Elrond, Go, For, It."_

The Princess endstopped her rap with that same broken robot dance maneuver that the Doctor of Ices had perpetrated at the conclusion of his own solo during the program of Today.

And then all the imitation of instrumentation in the background came crumbling down to the same mess of an end that it did on the Today of the reader's reality as well.

In closing, something so grand was that Kuros and the ladies had succeeded in driving back the hellish hecatomb that would have been brought about by so many feminists and the fails supporting them that day.

What was something of grief was that the dreams of so many damsels were dashed that day, they all so capitally catfished by a knight masked by mesh for so long…the guardian's emerging countenance not the likeness of an Adonis, but rather the face of a Frog (Edgar, that is).

…

…

…

EPILOGUE (Of Edgar Frog)

Even now, so many hours after the earth-erupting performance in that most wayward of Wood, Kuros was still endeavoring to understand and accept the idea that his devoted damsels had now defected from his affections. He was supposed to rendezvous with his seraglio so svelte once more now, on the other end of that same Wood, for an after-gala beyond the feminist-fouled fete that unfurled earlier. Hopefully here and now, the knight and his nymphs would really start a party most preternaturally prurient.

Dwindling down further into denial, the noble ruminated upon the bounty from which he would benefit at the breast of each bonny he'd broken from a bastille most base. As Lucinda loved to be gowned in green, the knight conceptualized the shamrockiest of shakes issuing from the peridots upon her pectorals. (How appropriate for a story published not only in March, but in that month during 2017—the quintessential Saint Patrick's year).

One might expect emeralds upon one who was named Esmeralda…but because she always bedizened herself in blue, Kuros perceived a pair of the smoothest sapphires, shining and emitting Icee of the bluest of raspberry from their supple nodules.

Given that Galadriel dressed in raiments of red, the ranger envisioned the oakiest of cabernets emanating from udders of ruby upon her tender, tempting thorax.

Not even Kuros's own sister Grizelda escaped the mental meandering of the concupiscent champion, as the warrior envisioned powerful freshets of strawberry Fribble dribbling down from the protuberances of poudretteite that were pressed into the tumuli upon his sibling's torso.

Then there was pretty Penelope, from the tremendous bronze plinths glinting upon her glands, the gushing of Guinness for Kuros to guzzle. (This author really prefers that company's lager, but anyways).

For the last of the ladies who didn't quite qualify for royalty…there was Candida, with lustrous brooches upon her bosoms, the hero slavering for the silvery vodka that would vault forth from her argent areolas.

Yet none of these unchaste unions would ever occur between Kuros and his comely crew, namely due to the reveal of the hideously homely face he flaunted to the females during his concert in the coppice. For certain, no bewitching babes would imbibe the font of flavors that spouted from the chevalier's own intrepid pepperonis, the nubs upon his own bust bursting with every flavor from the Club Cool of Epcot Center…those far-flung fluids from so many countries of the reader's reality (as disgusting as each was in actuality, since this author thought that said flavors were yucky (OMG THE RACISMS)).

Still, nonetheless…despite the fact that the maidens made off with one another in fact, and not with the fairyland frontiersman (Esmeralda, for example, was _very_ good friends with Galadriel…you didn't think Esme became inebriated off of just _any_ red wine, now do you?!)…there was still one admirer remaining, who tracked him alone along this trail of tremendous trees.

And in light of her weakness for beatboxing now…the Princess padded forth most audibly as she neared her lover, she assuming a Stance most Buffalo as she rhythmically and NenehCherreically greeted her Sir:

 _"HEY Who's that Knight_

 _"Walking through the trees_

 _"With his hands on his potions_

 _"And his Lava Walk feet…?"_

This selection, it must be imparted, was an infinitely appropriate one in light of the resemblance of the "Door Entering" jingle of Wizards and Warriors to the background musical bit in the aforementioned "Stance," at stanza's close, when Neneh sang "Don't…you get fresh with me" (In this author's opinion, at least, the former always sounded like a sped-up version of the latter).

…

(This author must add, as well, that the wild background theme that plays in the small in-between sections between large parts of Snake's Revenge by Konam…er, UltraGames, sounds like some kind of Central American pornographic soundtrack. Such comment has precisely naught to do with Wizards and Warriors, SJWs, or Neneh Cherry…it was just yet another melodic free-association that this author wanted to get in, as he doesn't see himself doing a Metal Gear fan story anytime soon).

…

No brazen banter, no courtly conversing was required between the betrothed in this instance. Kuros just took into his arms his beloved Kurotny (who did have a name similar to his own, just as the timeless Goonie and Lost Boy had recently married his Canadian concubine with a first handle phonetically close to his own as well)…and soon enough, the knight would be inhaling Harp Lager as it flowed fantastically from the molten medallions upon his paramour's pyramids most prodigious.


End file.
